Too Late
by Snavej
Summary: Do you want to know the worst thing about that day? I can remember every little detail. [Warnings: Suicide, death, overdosing. Rated T as I am aware a lot of YA contains such themes, but please be wary if these topics are sensitive issues.]


Do you want to know the worst thing about that day?

I can remember every little detail.

When I think back about my life so far, I can remember a few key events from certain days, but I can remember very little of the details.

But that day I can remember everything.

I had woken up early, despite having stayed up until almost 2am the previous night watching some crappy American horror film. I had eaten porridge for breakfast. I had put on the TV and had sat on the sofa with my laptop to read stories on the internet curled up under a blanket.

It had been the summer holidays. I had been fourteen years old.

I had been wearing pale pink pyjama bottoms and an old white t-shirt with multi-coloured dinosaurs on it that I had slept in. The t-shirt was from the science museum. My dad had had the same one.

The TV had just been background noise as I read fanfiction. It had been Harry Potter fanfiction, if I remember correctly, one about James and Lily falling in love; everything as it should be.

Mum had still been asleep.

It wasn't unusual, she often slept in. Especially since…

My mum hadn't been well. She had been diagnosed with depression and Borderline Personality Disorder. This had been explained to me in terms of yoghurt pots. That she would switch between different flavours of yoghurt without so much as a warning. It wasn't the best analogy really.

But she did change a lot.

One moment she'd be happy and childish and enthusiastic and the most wonderful mother anyone could wish for. Then something would happen, something tiny, and she'd be angry and scary and cruel.

I knew she never meant it.

But it didn't stop it hurting.

It hadn't been until almost 11oclock that I thought perhaps she'd been asleep a bit too long. I had crept upstairs just to check, I mean it wouldn't be the first time…

I had been scared to open the door.

I remember forcing an arm out to push the door open. I remember her lying peacefully in bed.

Yet at the same time, I knew everything was wrong.

Her lips had been a purple-blue colour and her skin had been deathly pale. Her breathing had been so shallow I hadn't been sure it was there.

"Mum?" I had said. I had rushed to her side and shaken her gently. "Mum?"

She had not responded.

I had opened the draw beside her bed and saw the empty packets.

"Mum? Can you hear me?"

I remember going empty; not knowing what to do. Feeling like a shell of a human being.

"Mum?" I had shaken her again and she had mumbled something. A little foamy white stuff had escaped her mouth. It had looked like sea foam. Her fringe had been plastered to her forehead and her skin had felt clammy.

I remember imagining what my father would have told me to do. So I had rushed to my bedroom and grabbed my phone, but there was no signal. I remember thinking how ridiculous it was that I could only get signal in one part of the house that was as about as far from my mother's bedroom as possible.

I had run down the stairs and grabbed the house phone. 119.

" _Fire or ambulance?_ " A low voice had said.

"Ambulance."

" _What is your address?_ "

I had rattled off my address as if on autopilot; my body doing things without my being aware of them.

" _The ambulance is on its way. What has happened?_ "

"It's my mum, she's pale and her breathing is really shallow and…"

" _Are you with her now?_ " The voice had been so calm.

"No, she's upstairs, I can't get any signal there."

" _What is your name?"_

"Taniyama Mai."

" _Well Taniyama-san, tell me your mobile number and I will call you back on that number._ "

I had told the man my mobile number and hung up before rushing upstairs to my mobile.

It had rung a minute later. I hadn't known why it was working now and not before, but I hadn't questioned that until later.

"Hello?" I had picked up as I returned to my mother's bedroom. She had not moved.

" _Hello, Taniyama-san?"_

"Yes?"

" _Are you with your mother now?"_

"Yes, she looks the same. There's some foam coming out of her mouth."

" _Is she still breathing?"_

"Yes, but I can do CPR if I need to. I know how!" I had been babbling slightly.

" _There'll be no need for that unless she stops breathing._ "

I had just been trying to reassure the man that I knew what to do if something got worse before the paramedics arrived and yet my words had seemed to worry him more than anything. Looking back, perhaps I should have just told him I had done some first aid at school.

" _The ambulance will be there any minute; can you go and make sure they can get in?_ "

"Yes."

" _You should contact a family member now, if you can. I'm going to hang up okay? The ambulance will be there any minute."_

"Okay." I hadn't bothered to tell him I had no other family.

I remember doing the stupidest thing then. I had felt self-conscious about not wearing a bra if other people were turning up. My mother was on the brink of death and I had been worried about not wearing a bra. It felt so stupid now.

I had slipped into my room and put a bra on under my t-shirt. I remember putting deodorant on too.

Then I had run downstairs and opened the front door, leaving it open for the paramedics, before returning to my mother's room. I had shaken her yet again. But she was still largely unresponsive; occasionally making a sleepy noise.

"Hello?" A woman had shouted from below.

"Up here!" I had rushed to the top of the stairs and gestured. The two female paramedics in their uniforms and with their bags had followed at my signal. I had shown them to my mother's room and watched from the doorway. Scared to get too close.

"What's her name?" One of them had asked.

"Taniyama Yuki."

"Taniyama-san?" The one who had asked was raising her voice as she squeezed my mother's hand. "Can you hear me?"

My mother had shaken her head as if batting away a fly.

I remember watching as they had pinched the soft skin at the end of the nail, a technique I later learned to be part of getting a response due to the sensitivity of that part of skin.

"Is she on any medication?"

I had nodded.

"It's in the shoebox in the drawer." I had pointed.

One of the paramedics had taken it out and handed it to the other, who opened the shoebox and looked through the boxes of drugs. I still don't know how my mother had kept up with all the different medicines she had been told to take…

None of them ever seemed to help.

I remember an urge overcoming me. I had known I had to tell them. But I remember being scared that they would be prejudiced towards her and I hadn't wanted that.

"She's attempted suicide before." I had said quietly. Saying it out loud had made it so real. They had looked momentarily alarmed at my words but had quickly regained their composure.

"Taniyama-san, have you taken any pills you shouldn't have?" The woman's tone had sounded almost patronising.

My mother had seemed to be coming to. She had groaned. If I had closed my eyes and heard that sound, I might've thought someone was waking her up early in the morning before anyone should be awake.

I had watched as they encouraged my mother into a waking state. But she hadn't really been awake.

She'd been like a zombie. I watched as they helped her stagger to the toilet, but they hadn't afforded her the privacy of a shut door. My mother hadn't been really with it. Her face had still been pale and her lips were still a funny colour. She had been staggering around and the two paramedics had helped her into some clothes.

My mother had spotted me and I had seen a flicker of recognition in her eyes.

"I'm sorry Mai," she had said. "I love you."

Yet I had been able to find my voice to respond.

The two paramedics helped her down the stairs and into the ambulance.

I knew they were taking her to have her stomach pumped. They were confident she would recover; that there would be no lasting effects of the overdose.

I still to this day don't know how many pills she had taken that time.

I remember being glad though… The time before she had tried she had slit her wrists. Ever since that attempt she had worn large bangles to cover the scars that decorated her skin. At least this time there had been no blood.

I remember sitting in my house afterwards. I remember feeling so empty. I remember not crying.

I did not shed a single tear.

It was like my body did not know how to process what had happened.

I knew why she'd done it. It'd been a plea for help.

The sad thing about the state of mental healthcare is that there is a procedure you have to go through to get to the help you need.

A patient has to go to group therapy first. And if that doesn't work, then they get moved onto CBT and then some other procedure. They keep moving through a series of techniques until they hit the one that works because they couldn't afford to give the one to one sessions people need. Patients have to jump through hoops to try and get help.

My mother lived that day. She recovered. The doctors all promised to help her and to begin with they did…

But the paperwork and legalities and the other stupid things that don't matter to mentally ill people got in the way.

So she tried again.

I lost track of the number of times she tried.

But every time had felt like a stab wound into my heart. She had been trying to get enough attention to make someone help her and that had been the only way she knew how. Though I knew she was not trying to leave me, it still felt like she was.

I remember my fourteen year old self wondering why I wasn't good enough. Why she didn't want me enough to stay?

After every time, she had apologised and told me she loved me and promised never to do it again.

And every time she did it again.

And I would never know when she would do it. There had been no pattern, no way of guessing. I had been scared to leave her home alone.

And I remember thinking bitterly that maybe it would be easier just to let her succeed because I couldn't stand living like that.

But I never did.

I hated what her illness did to her, but regardless of everything I still loved her; she was my Mummy.

Every time I did my best to forgive and forget.

Until the time I was too late.

* * *

 **Author's note: I wrote this because I wondered once how Mai's mother had died.**

 **Some people are kind just because they are, but some people are kind because they have suffered deeply. And they do not want others to suffer as they have done. I always thought Mai was very kind to everyone and I wondered...**

 **I sincerely hope Mai did not suffer like this, because I know how much this hurts.**

 **Please review.**


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